Birthday Prayer

Yesterday morning for my birthday, my friend Mandali and I took a rickshaw to Bhaktisiddhanta Saraswati Thakur's bhajan kutir. This is the place where the Thakur made a vow to chant one billion names of the Lord in prayer for the fallen souls of this age. He chanted for 9 years and 3 months.

I had wanted this quiet, meditative morning; obviously Lord Chaitanya had a different plan. Yesterday so happened to be the last day of Navadwip Mandala Parikrama! This is an organized pilgrimage that draws thousands of people from every corner of the world. Mandali and I were moving among rivers and rivers of people, their eyes glowing, faces bright. We kept shaking our heads and grinning, letting ourselves get carried with the current. 

The kutir itself is usually quiet, but yesterday thousands had gathered in the courtyard to sing kirtan and listen to saintly people speak about such a holy place. I felt moved by how the Lord has truly reciprocated with the Thakur's prayers to flood the world with love of God. 

This kutir is the place to pray to be empowered to give. I prayed that this year I can be strong and share with others the love that has been given to me by the great souls.

Bhaktisiddhanta Saraswati Thakur 

Srila Prabhupad 

my spiritual master, Radhanath Swami 

The Mayapur Academy

After five years of prayer, endeavor, and many, many blessings, three days ago I received a Diploma with Distinction from the Mayapur Academy.

When Nrisimha Kavacha Prabhu came through Alachua in 2007, he spoke about the Mayapur Academy. The Academy would be a place where people from around the world could come and learn the art of worshiping the Lord in his deity form.

Immediately I resolved that one day I would take this 4-month course. Year after year passed, but the time was never right. Finally, last year I graduated from college and was free to go to India.

Only... I was a broke, fresh-out-of-college student.

But this was the year. It had to be.

With much trepidation, I began a fundraising campaign. I needed to raise thousands of dollars within only two months. Would people believe in me? I faced huge walls within myself to reach out so boldly.

I swallowed my pride and began to send e-mails and then make phone calls. I soon began to realize, though, that through fundraising for this trip, Lord Chaitanya was pushing me forward to beg the blessings of everyone I knew in my life - professional colleagues, senior devotees, peers, even juniors. A tsunami of blessings rushed in.

I reached almost my entire fundraising goal.

Thus, built upon the blessings of the devotees, last November I stepped into the Mayapur Academy. For four months I have been immersed in a powerful world filled with austerity, magic, and beauty.


I have dived deep into the reality that God is a person. Be clean for God, show up on time for God, cook the best food for God, give the best clothes and jewelry and flowers to God. Sing for Him, sacrifice for Him, be soft with Him, cry for Him.


That is love.

Love is a verb, and for the past four months I have been in the fire of that verb, realizing how how icy my heart truly is. My only hope is to remain in the fire.

Now that I have received my diploma, I am reflecting how I have been propelled forward by the blessings I received last year and every step of the way. I especially want to thank my parents - my fundraising campaign had been unfinished, and so they have supported me in these final months to finish the Academy.

I feel deeply moved by each and every person who spoke some kind word or gave even one dollar. Thank you.  

I offer my respects to each of my gurus at the Academy, especially Jananivas Prabhu and Nrisimha Kavacha Prabhu. I offer my respects to each of my fellow students, who taught me so much about humility, patience, tolerance, and respect.

I offer my gratitude to my spiritual master, Radhanath Swami, and to Srila Prabhupad. 

I pray that to repay this debt of love I may give to others what I have been given.  

***

If you are interested in attending or offering support to the Mayapur Academy, please visit mayapuracademy.org.

If you would like to give so that I may finish my time here in Mayapur, you can visit blossomofdevotion.com. Thank you.

My Heart is an Altar

Several days ago, after the temple had been closed for the afternoon, we ladies of the Mayapur Academy went onto the altar of Pancha Tattva to do an annual cleaning. When I first stepped onto the cool marble floor of the altar, I just gazed up in wonder at each of the five, magnificent golden forms of the Pancha Tattva.

Please allow me to serve You today, I prayed.

We all grabbed buckets and rags and began our work in reverential silence. I scrubbed the walls and the floor until my arms and body began to sing with soreness. Cobwebs, grime, and soot kept coming off the walls in rivulets.

With each passing minute, I began to feel sick to the stomach. Weaknesses and faults in my heart churned and churned to the surface.

Pain, disgust, sickness.

Hatred, doubt, cynicism.

I felt so humbled, so sad to be feeling such things in the presence of the magnificent golden forms of Pancha Tattva.

But what could I do? I wanted to run, but I knew that there was no hiding from God. So I just kept scrubbing.

When the walls, doors, and marble floors had all been scrubbed to a sparkle, most of the ladies left the altar to wash out buckets. I stayed on the altar. I knelt down with folded palms and gazed up at the face of Lord Chaitanya.

In my mind, I murmured the Sanskrit prayer of forgiveness over and over again. "Oh Lord, whatever worship I have offered to You today is without proper knowledge, method, attitude, with no devotion. Please forgive me. I pray that You may accept whatever little effort I have made. Now I shall remember Lord Krishna and He shall make everything perfect."

Those moments seemed so suspended. I was practically alone on the altar with Pancha Tattva, the doors closed, the temple quiet. Looking at Lord Chaitanya, I felt as though the contents of my heart were laid bare before Him. All of the gunk and beauty.

With that, I offered my obeisance, touching my forehead to the cool marble floor. Then I left the altar.

A couple days later, I attended an international kirtan festival in Mumbai. That first afternoon, I sat in the whorl of a powerful kirtan, in the midst of hundreds of people crying out the holy names of God. Each name that I sang seemed to hang and shine in the air for a moment. My heart felt quiet and peaceful.

Clean.

I sang for hours and hours; my cheeks began to ache from so much smiling. Through it all, whenever I would close my eyes, engraved upon my mind were the five golden forms of Pancha Tattva.

(photo courtesy of flickr)

Embracing My Nature

I have always considered my nature to be that of a brahmana - one who feels the most alive and content to study and teach.

Today, though, I have been embracing the fact that my nature is also that of a ksatriya - an administrator, leader, even a bit of a warrior.

I saw a picture tonight of me dancing in kirtan and tears poured down my face. I looked so intense, so passionate, like I was about to fight someone.

Accepting the fact that I have a ksatriya nature is so much harder than I thought it would be. As a woman, am I still lovable even when I bust out a sword?

Looking at that picture, I felt repulsed and liberated at the same time to accept the reality of my nature to be intense, outspoken, different, even a bit of a fighter. This is who I have been all along, all of my life. I feel like today I'm finally accepting that maybe it's okay to be this way, that there's a place in society for me. My journey is learning how to dovetail my nature in service to God.

In one sense, it's not that big of a deal. I'm a brahmana-ksatriya by occupation. Teacher-warrior, no sweat.

Because ultimately, strip away all of those designations and I'm just a soul crying for Krishna.

"I am not a brahmana, I am not a ksatriya, I am not a vaisya or a sudra. Nor am I a brahmachari, a householder, a vanaprastha or a sannyasi. I identify myself only as the servant of the servant of the servant of the lotus feet of Lord Sri Krsna, the maintainer of the gopis. He is like an ocean of nectar, and He is the cause of universal transcendental bliss. He is always existing with brilliance."
- Chaitanya Charitamrita, Madhya Lila, 13.80

Enough

My alarm clock tone is the 1966 track of Prabhupad singing pranam and Hare Krishna. This morning I decided to put in my earphones and listen to the whole track.

Prabhupad's voice filled my being.

The thought came to me how I want this track to be playing at the time of my death. Seeing myself on my deathbed did not feel morbid at all. In fact, I experienced such peace.

No matter how much my body may change, if I travel the world or remain in a small town, who I marry or if I ever marry, disasters or triumphs that befall me, who my children are or if I ever have children, what my career is, if I accomplish famous deeds or remain utterly unknown, whatever may transpire in my life...

... everything becomes so simple in those moments before I leave this body.

Prabhupad.

The holy name. Krishna.

Listening to Prabhupad sing this morning while I laid in bed, I experienced quiet moments of perfection. I don't need to prove anything in this life, to conquer the world or something. I just need to be me. I am enough.

Prabhupad will come for me.

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Wish Granted

From the moment I had woken up at 3:30 in the morning, I was an engine revving to go. Go, go, go! Go to Mangal Arati, go to the Mayapur Academy, go practice, go chant, go! Get everything done so that I could go hear my guru speak tonight.

Radhanath Swami had been here in Mayapur for almost a week, speaking every night to 4,000 people on the glories of Lord Chaitanya. Even though the pandal where he was speaking was only a couple hundred meters from where I was studying, I had not yet had time to spend one full night to listen. I was just so, so busy.

But tonight would be different. I was scheduling my day meticulously to leave school on time. Not only that, I was going to sit up at the very, very front and look at Maharaj's face the entire time!

Night fell. Despite my planning, I was still at school. Still practicing for my exam.

The lecture had begun. The pandal was so close by the Academy that I could hear the echoes of the microphone as Maharaj spoke. I felt spikes of pain to be so close yet so far. My hopes from the whole day crashed around me.

And yet at the same time, I knew that by being here, studying for Krishna, that was what Radhanath Swami himself would've wanted of me.

So I stayed.

Later that night, I was walking home from dinner with my friend Jahnava. We were turning a corner on the road when I saw up ahead a figure in orange, walking by himself, his orange cloth lit up by a streetlight behind him. At first I thought he was a brahmachari.

Then I looked again.

"Oh my, Maharaj!" I exclaimed. I immediately knelt to the dust to offer my respects. Jahnava also knelt.

By the time I had stood up, Maharaj had walked up to both of us, his eyes shining, his face beaming.

"Bhakti lata devi!" he said and looked into my eyes. "I have been yearning to see you."

I was speechless for a moment. "Maharaj... I... I've been yearning to see you!"

He was quiet for a moment, smiling, then he turned to Jahnava and asked, "What is your name?"

"Jahnava," she replied.

"Beautiful," he said, holding her gaze for several moments. He turned to me again and was quiet. Then, as if he had all the time in the world, he asked me gently, "How are you?"

"I am very well, Maharaj," I said, and I was thinking I would just end it there. After all, this was someone who only an hour before had been speaking to 4,000 people. Surely he had other things to do, other people to talk to. But I found no such mood of rush in Maharaj's face or his voice. He simply wanted to know how I was.

And so I shared with Maharaj a little about Mayapur Academy, and we spoke about how to learn the essence of every ritual we do. He said that he may come to my graduation in March to hand students their diplomas. "I may hand you yours," Maharaj said with a smile.

Then we folded our palms and bid each other goodbye and goodnight.

Jahnava and I continued to walk home, and my eyes were wide and shining.

The holy land of Mayapur seems to grant wishes.

Gift of Fearlessness

I was trembling. My heart was pounding.

I squeezed my way through the train compartment, people shouting and moving in every square inch. The devotee from the temple who was helping me carry all of my luggage finally settled my stuff on my bunk, Number 15. Then with a smile he said, "Okay, Mataji, I go now,"

Don't go, please don't go, I pleaded in my mind, but I spoke the words, "Oh, okay, Haribol,"

The devotee waved, and then he disappeared into the mass of bodies. He was my last link with the world I knew. I just sat there on my bunk in shock. I looked around and I saw men - all men - looking at me. I was going to be on this 2nd class train for 36 hours from Mumbai to Kolkatta. Alone. I had no phone. No access to anyone. I was cut off from the world. Anything could happen.

My mind whirred - I could still get off the train. I had 16 minutes to change my mind - grab all my luggage and somehow find a phone and get back to the temple. This was madness.

Suddenly, the train flooded with loudly chattering village women. They filled the aisles until there was barely room to move. I sat there utterly stunned. These women were joking. No way could they be riding with us.

But they were. When the train began to move, the women settled to the floor where they would be sleeping the night. I looked on in shocked disbelief.

I slept with my passport tucked into my shirt that night, murmuring the Nrisimhadeva Prayers for protection.

***

By the next afternoon, I hadn't smiled or moved from my bunk in over 14 hours. I had adjusted to the intensity of the train ride by putting up energetic shields and retreating deep inside of myself.

Towards midday, I was reading a book about Srila Prabhupad. There was this little girl trying to squish into my bunk (along with two other women). I decided to soften up a bit and give the little girl some space to lean her back against my bunk wall.

Suddenly out of the corner of my eye, I saw this old guy across the aisle gesturing to the popcorn he had just bought, this big creepy smile on his face, trying to get the little girl to take some. She was refusing silently. He would reach towards her, and she shrank away.

I looked up from my book, sized up the situation, and stared daggers at the man. He still smiled, trying to get the girl to eat his popcorn. I said with knives in my voice, "Leave."

He smiled at me as if I was being silly - this little girl knew him.

So I turned to the little girl, gesturing, "Do you know him?"

She shook her head.

I turned back to the man and said in a deadly tone, "Leave her alone." It was incredible. I experienced profound and lethal anger surge inside of me. I suddenly found myself willing to fight for this little girl, and I didn't even know her name.

The other young girl on my bunk giggled at my intensity. I wondered for a moment if maybe I was mistaken - maybe the little girl did know the man and I was overreacting.

But I didn't care. I was doing my duty, since obviously no one else was protecting the little girl.

The man lost his smile and never bothered the girl again. I kept looking over at him, checking in to make sure, almost as if to say, "Just you DARE, you lowlife," But he never dared again.

Some time later, the little girl asked where I was from and where I was going, and I understood enough to respond simply.

But then I ended up connecting with the little girl, her name was Seetal, and the other young girl on my bunk, Kajal. I decided to teach these girls the most valuable thing I knew, so I taught them the Hare Krishna maha mantra. They soaked it up like sponges.

They chanted the mahamantra a few times. I could see delight shining on their faces, like they had just been given a special and mystical gift.

I explained in my limited Hindi that this mantra is bliss for the soul. And in a very grave tone, I also mimed that this mantra would give protection. When in fear, something frightful, chant this mantra. I thought of the lowlife man across the aisle who still sat there, and that there might be many more men like him in these girls' futures. I wouldn't always be there to protect them, maybe no one would be there. But if they remembered this mantra, maybe Krishna would be there.

The two girls took my explanation gravely and said the mantra again. Little Seetal said to me in English, "Thank you,"

I replied with a warm smile, "You are welcome."

I almost feel like those two girls were the reason I didn't get off the train last night. I was experiencing such fear at the beginning of this journey, fear of being alone, fear of being exploited. Everything had been stripped away from me on this train.

In the process of teaching these girls the mahamantra, I got in touch with the fearlessness in my own heart.

P.S. The next time I travel by train in India alone, First Class only!